Rider of Rohan
by KaterineKasdorf
Summary: ...A flashlight revealed a hollow about four inches deep that ran the length and width of the floor. At last I had found something. It was not a pile of gold, it was a worn book, an old diary. I pulled it out and replaced the floorboard...
1. An Introduction to the Story

Rider of Rohan  
  
Some time ago, I happened to be staying with friends. Their home is over a century old, and was built near the field of the Battle of Scary Creek, fought during our Civil War. One night, I found myself experiencing a bit of insomnia, and began to explore my room. I must confess that having read too many storybooks, I had no other thought than to find a secret room or at the least a secret compartment filled with treasure. While looking at the fireplace, I noticed that one of the floorboards was loose-jointed. After several unsuccessful attempts to pull it up with my fingers, I found a knife and thus pried it open. A flashlight revealed a hollow about four inches deep that ran the length and width of the floor. At last I had found something. It was not a pile of gold, it was a worn book, an old diary. I pulled it out and replaced the floorboard. All thoughts of sleep gone, I stayed up until the early morning reading it. My hosts had no interest in the journal, and it has been in my possession for many years now.  
  
With all of the recent interest in Tolkein's histories of Middle Earth, I have decided to publish it here for all to read. Any comments of my own will be enclosed in brackets. ([ ]) At present, I have decided to publish only the last half, as it is more interesting and faster paced. If, however, people enjoy reading it, I may publish the first half as well, which tells a bit about the author and how she came to be in Middle Earth. It is well worth reading, but I have decided to start with this part. 


	2. Leaving Hobbiton

Leaving Hobbiton  
  
My stay with the hobbits was drawing to an end. It seems that it is possible to wear out even the welcome of these friendly little people, and while they had taken great care not to show it, I knew that they were ready for me to leave their small homes. At last I decided to strike out for the country of Rohan, as the hobbits had never stopped believing that I was a native of those parts. The hobbits, though they may have been anxious to get one of the "big people" out of their little holes, liked me. They arranged for me to have a guide, for I insisted that I did not know the way to Rohan, and they were sure that I must have been ill and forgotten my home and people. So it was, that after a large party, thrown in best hobbit style at Bag End, that I mounted my horse and followed one of the Proudfoots (or is it Proudfeet? It seems that only they themselves are quite certain of how to pluralize their name.) At any rate, one of the Proudfoot family rode on his small pony in front of me, carrying enough food to last a month or two, although I was assured that a few days travel would bring us into Rohan.  
  
It was with a measure of regret that I left the Shire. It was peaceful, a lot like Spruce Haven was before the war. I remember a time when my brothers would work in the fields with the same easy carelessness that the hobbits do. Indeed, as happy as I had been in the Shire, it had brought a measure of sadness. These carefree people had no idea of the pain that war causes. I had heard that their country had only recently come out of war, but the people had been only slightly effected by it. [It would seem that the author arrived in Hobbiton not long after the Scouring of the Shire.] There was pain in seeing the cheerful faces of the housewives; I thought often of my own mother. She was so careworn and tired. I can only imagine the grief of sending three sons to fight in a war, and knowing that one of them will never come back. There are a few hobbits who seemed to understand a bit about grief and war, four, in fact: Peregrin Took, Meriodac Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee, and the owner of Bag End, Frodo Baggins. The other three had only a trace of sadness, a maturity that war brings, but Mr. Baggins was weighed down. It was as if he has lost something very precious to him, for at times I think he is still searching for it. Such a tortured soul was he! I have only heard bits of gossip from the others, and it would seem that he was involved in the war in a very real way.  
  
But to get back to my story, I left the Shire and bade farewell to all of the little people. I looked one last time at their little holes and their farm lands, then rode off into this new country, where I knew not a one. We traveled through many places and lands, the names of which I have never remembered, before we neared the gap of Rohan. It was at this place that a misfortune fell upon us, a misfortune that would be the start of an adventure greater then any I had yet embarked upon. 


	3. The Narrow Road

The Narrow Road  
  
My guide and I rode through a narrow rocky pass. It was near dusk, but the hobbit did not wish to stop in this area. He insisted that we go further before making camp, and I was not too inclined to argue as I had learned that rocks do not make the most comfortable pillows. I was not without hopes of finding a soft places to sleep. We were in the center of the pass, just to where we could see the other side, when it seemed as if the mountain erupted. Hideous creatures, the color of the rocks and mud, sprang from hiding and descended upon us. The hobbit's pony sprang away at once, and made it out of the pass before one of the creature's arrows pierced its heart. I managed to keep my poor horse under control, but the creatures sprang upon his bridle and stabbed him to the death. I cannot explain the pain this brought me, as I had raised that horse from the time it was a wee foal. I would have lost my will and sprung at the creature, but my horse had crumpled and I was, in fact, hidden from their view. The corner of my dress was under the horse's body, and I could not move. I decided it would be best for me to be still. I nearly did cry out though, when I saw the creatures attacking my guide, but something startled them away before I could.  
  
I lie trapped by the dead body of my horse, feeling a growing terror, for I was certain that my guide had been killed, and without any way of leaving this place, I had no choice but to wait for the creatures to return and kill me as well. My terror rose when I heard hoofbeats, but abated slightly when I remembered that the creatures had been on foot. I was relieved to hear a kind voice talking to my guide.  
  
"Here now, what is this? A hobbit from the Shire? Why should one be so far from his home?"  
  
I had no idea who this man was, but I was beginning to grow desperate, and finally gathered enough courage to yell for help. Immediately over my horse peered an armored man. He frowned at me, but seemed willing to help.  
  
"Are you hurt" he asked me.  
  
"No," I said, "But I am trapped under this horse and I fear that our attackers will return."  
  
His frown deepened. "You need not fear that the orcs will return, for they are cowardly and easily frightened. There was a time when I could not guarantee this, but -" He bent down and lifted the horse up a bit so that I could pull my dress free. I was sure that he despised me as a weak woman, and felt the need to justify myself.  
  
"I would have fought them, but - I was stuck - that is - if I'd had a gun." I was stumbling over my words.  
  
He barely looked at me as he walked back toward the hobbit. "You would have been very foolish to try to fight the orcs. You were wise to stay silent." I had walked over toward my guide and saw that he was very badly injured with several knife wounds. I gasped and couldn't help the tears that came from my eyes. I think that in that moment I was seeing my brother lying alone on some battlefield. I gave up trying to be brave and strong and decided to be myself. "Will he live?" Perhaps it was not a very wise thing to say, but I had come to care for the friendly little fellow, and to think that he would die on my account would have been very hard to bear. The man shook his head slowly.  
  
"I cannot tell. We must take him to the healers." I saw then that his horse was standing nearby. He looked at me for a moment. "You must ride with me. Hold onto the halfling. We will ride fast." I nodded as he swung me onto his horse and handed up the young Proudfoot to me. Then he climbed on in front of us and began to ride.  
  
I have always known people who ride, and can ride well myself, but for the first time I met a real rider. The horse was perfect and his riding perfect, although at the time I did not realize it. My stomach lurched as the young hobbit's blood reddened my arms and hands. Tears ran down my cheeks and dripped off of my chin. I looked at his curly head. I saw my brother. He was standing in front of the fireplace. It was Christmas morning. I was eight; he was five. His little curly head bobbed with excitement as he stared up at his bulging stocking. More tears ran down my face. "Stay with me Robert." I was unaware of the man who rode the horse until he spoke in a harsh voice.  
  
"Why were you in that pass? All women and children have been ordered to stay in their villages. The orcs have not been defeated." I looked up at his back.  
  
"I have come from Hobbiton. The little folk said that I belonged here." He said nothing else, but it is sure from later conversation that he was wondering what a woman of Rohan was doing with the Hobbits. 


	4. The Hut of the Healer

The Hut of the Healer  
  
Though I was sound in body, my soul was wounded. My sadness over my brother's death had abated somewhat by the time I had spent with the Hobbits, but this attack had opened those old wounds. I too needed to see the "healer", for a "wounded spirit who can bear?" The better question would have been, "A wounded spirit who can heal?" I was to find the answer to that question, but as of this time, I still had no knowledge of the healing power of love.  
  
At last we rode into a city built upon a hill. Seeing it for the first time, I felt certain that I had stepped into Camelot. The armored men could have belonged at the Round Table, and I waited for Arthur to greet me. The Hobbit was breathing heavily, and I really began to fear that he would not last until the Rider could find these healers. But at last we reached a thatched roof hut. The horse stopped so suddenly that I nearly fell. I confess that I was not at all impressed with the manners of this Rider. He dismounted quickly, grabbed the Hobbit, and whisked him into the hut. I slowly followed. The hut was dark inside, and I had a vague impression of a fireplace, and some older ladies running around lighting candles. I looked around for the Hobbit and found him lying on some sort of table. The Rider was conversing with the old man who was looking at the Hobbit's wounds. Presently the man said something to the women, and they began to bustle about feverishly getting bandages and herbs and the like. I felt very in the way, thus sidled over to the fireplace and sat on some flour sacks. I hadn't realized I was tired until I awoke. The Rider shook my arm and told me that the "halfling" would live. I must have fallen back asleep, for that is my last memory of the healer's hut. 


	5. The First Morning

The First Morning  
  
I awoke to find myself in a sunlit room. The first thought I had that morning was that it was quite lovely to sleep in a bed made for people of full heighth. This reminded me of my troubles from the day before and I nearly bounded from the bed. I was in a comfortable room. How I came to be there or when I could not say. It was all of stone, but carved in such a manner that it was not unpleasant. The bed was made up with bright colors and the walls were hung with sweet tapestries. What appealed to me most was that one wall was really only a row of columns, patterned after horse heads. Between the columns I could see a wide balcony. It was to this place I walked, for the night had shrouded the city when I had entered it and I was unable to discern many of its features. I looked at the fair morning for a scarce moment when a serving woman entered and told me that the king desired my presence when I had eaten. While I was still puzzling as to why the king should care to converse with a wayward traveler, another serving woman peeped in the door, then brought a full tray and bade me eat of the good things.  
  
The two of them proceeded to work over my hair and garments so that in a short time I stood before the doors of the throne room garbed in the attire of that land. I wore a gown of pale blue, which fitted to the hips, then hung loosely to the floor. The sleeves were loose and flared, giving much freedom to my hands. The gown was embroidered all over in silver thread with small flowers and curving lines. Around my waist was clasped a silver belt. I found these garments more comfortable than the corset, hoops, and petticoats I had been wearing. Such a confession would shock the proper ladies of this time, but the gentle grace and dignity of these garments made my own seem coarse and foolish. I would do well to state that at this time my hair was the color of sunshine, for to look at me now, one would never guess that it had been so. It more closely resembles moonlight.  
  
But raiment aside, I stood at the door preparing to meet this king. The doors opened. I walked into a columned hall, hung with bright draperies of green and white. Men stood around dressed in the same livery and bright armor. The figure of a white horse was seen in most of the tapestries and carvings. I began to understand why the Hobbits had been certain I was from this land, for these horsemen all had hair no darker then ripe wheat. Truly though, at this time, I saw very little of the hall or the men standing about. It would be several days before I took in these surroundings, but I write them now to save myself the trouble of doing it later. 


	6. The Golden Hall

[I am quite surprised by the number of people who are interested in this story. At present I am posting this in short chapters because the author rambles a bit about scenery. I am trying to get this, the slower part of the story, moving a bit more rapidly. It may seem a little choppy.  
  
Someday I plan to post the first half of this journal as well. I realize that it may be a bit confusing to start reading in the middle like this, so I am putting a few facts about the author here:  
  
Her name was Helen Thomkins. She and her family owned a large farm called Spruce Havens in Northwestern Virginia. At the time of her trip to Middle Earth, her younger brother Robert had been killed in a battle. She found this out and promptly rode out into a thunderstorm. She gives no attempt at an explanation, and as I do not have the answers either, I shall not try to explain how one can cross time and distance in that manner.  
  
As near as I can figure, the author must have visited the Shire in (SR) 1420. That would explain why she found the shire-folk so happy.]  
  
The Golden Hall  
  
Now the serving women had explained to me what I must do upon being introduced to the king. When I expressed a lack of knowledge as to the was and what he did they set to talking so fast (they said I must be a poor country chick indeed not to know.) that I could not explain that I was new to this land. But, at least I need not make a fool of myself. I walked into the Hall and bowed as someone announced:  
  
"Eómer, King of the Mark!"  
  
Than I answered respectfully:  
  
"Helen, daughter of Jeremiah, of Spruce Havens."  
  
A new voice spoke, one I found oddly familiar. "Strange to us are these words and names, fair maiden of the Havens."  
  
I dared lift my head for my first glance at a king. What should I find but that he was the Rider! I mentally went over everything I had done and thought to myself that it was not at all how one should act before a king. As I looked upon him I was surprised to find that he was a well-looking man. I had not noticed before. His shoulders were broad and his features noble. His face had a kingliness that I had never before seen on a man. His eyes bore into me intensely as though he was trying to read my mind. Perhaps he was. I do not know how long I knelt there looking upon him, but at last I gathered my wits enough to stand and speak.  
  
"The king may well say that such names are strange, for they do not come from this land. They - I am from a far off country, though how far it is I do not know."  
  
Eómer King looked at his advisors who looked back at him blankly. At last he rose from his throne and motioned for me to follow him as he walked out onto a terrace. Once we were both comfortably seated he spoke.  
  
"And now, fair one, I would hear all of your tale. Perhaps it may be more strange and wonderful than the tales to us of late. Although, that would be a wondrous feat indeed."  
  
So, taking a deep breath, I began. 


	7. Two Stories

Two Stories  
  
I told him all about my home. I told him of the War Between the States, and this especially interested him. I told him about riding into the thunderstorm and my stay with the hobbits. Finally I told him of the journey to Rohan because of the Hobbits' belief that I was one of these people.  
  
He was silent a long moment after I finished my story. At last he looked at me. "In this war, you have brothers who are fighting?"  
  
I nodded and sighed. "All four of my brothers went to fight in this war, and one will never return."  
  
I was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "I know what it is to lose a dear one to war. Not too many months ago I lay to rest one who was like a father to me. War is not pleasant. But often it is necessary. It cleanses the air and makes way for a new civilization."  
  
"And what if no one wants a new civilization? What then? What if they were quite satisfied with things the way they were?"  
  
He looked at me silently, and I wonder if he knew what was going on in my mind. I was not so opposed to the war as I may have said. I knew the necessity of this war, but somehow I could not smile and grimly bear it as my mother and sister were wont to. I had seen too many awful things. I had seen neighbors and friends and brothers go away to fight in war. I had seen little boys go off to fight with the grown men. I had seen the growing impatience in my father to join the battle; I had seen the anxiety in my mother as she watched him grow impatient. I had seen my sister mourn the death of her fiancé, then go off to serve in a hospital. I had seen too much, and I could not accept war as something that must happen. I was very bitter.  
  
He then began to tell me a story. It was more fantastic then anything I have ever heard, all about these strange races of Middle Earth. The hobbits and men entered into it, but also there were Elves and Dwarves, Wizards and Wildmen, and more of those awful orcs. Through it all wove the tale of a Ring. This one ring had the power to allow the darkest foe of Middle Earth to overthrow the good kings and rulers and set himself up as Dark Lord. As he spoke I could almost see what happened in my mind. The names of strange people and strange places were made known unto me. I took me into the depths of the earth and soaring onto the heights of the mountains. I wept at the death of the King, trembled at the sound of a Nazgul's screech, I sunk into despair as all hope was lost in Gondor, and thrilled as the King's banner was seen on the dark ships. I listened most of all to the tale of the sad hobbit, Frodo Baggins. My heart at last understood his pain as I heard how he and his servant went into the Dark Lord's land to destroy the thing that could destroy them all.  
  
When Eómer King finished his story I had no words in my mouth. In this moment all of my fears and troubles seemed insignificant. I knew that I was not without hope. Whether my war was won or lost, I would still have my home and my country. My former life began to fade, Helen Wayfar, the little girl, was replaced with someone new: Helen, Wayfarer, of the Havens. 


	8. A Dialogue

A Dialogue  
  
I spent a week in Edoras. (the city) During this time I reevaluated my opinion of the Rider, who I now knew to be Eómer King. When I had first met him, I supposed him to be callous. I spent that week watching the way he dealt with his subjects. He was kind and loving. The mind of our countrymen cannot comprehend the love a good king inspires. I watched especially the way his people reacted to him. They loved and honored him far above what we feel for our president. He in turn loved his people and did everything he could to make their lives easier. Although I had not seen the effects of war in Hobbiton, Edoras was still recovering. The people would shed tears at the mention of their old king, Theóden. Many families were missing a father or brother or son. I identified with them. I knew what it was to lose a loved one.  
  
After the week, I was once again called before the king. This time there were no advisors with him. He smiled as I entered the throne room and stood to greet me.  
  
"Helen of the Havens, hast thou been at rest in thine time with us."  
  
Truly I smiled at the use of such ancient language, but it was fair, and coming from this powerful king it sounded natural. I answered as best I could.  
  
"My time in Edoras has been pleasurable, Eómer King."  
  
He nodded and a bit of his formality eased away. "My country has taken a great interest in your story. You have been called the Wayfarer by many of my people." This was the first time that I thought of my self as Helen Wayfarer, and it was so like my true name that it felt right. "My sister will be coming soon to pay a visit to her homeland." I had heard nothing of the king's sister, and was keen to know more. "She will be fascinated to hear your tale." In truth, I was not entirely certain why he had called me to this meeting. At last he seemed to be ready to say it. "Fair Helen, your grief has been pulling at my heart. It seems that you not only carry the pain of your brother's death, although I know that is a grievous wound indeed, you seem to carry a much deeper pain. You have reminded me greatly of my sister, and that is why I bade her come. Perhaps she can help to heal the wounds."  
  
I was touched that he would care enough to do this, but it was the same care I had seen him give to all of the people under his care. Deep inside, I knew he was right. I did carry much more pain then that caused by the loss of Robert. I believe I was bitter. I was bitter that my sister and brothers had gone off to help in this war while I must stay home. I wanted to do something. I wanted a bit of the glory. I shudder now to look back at how shallow I was. If I had ever seen those battlefields, I am sure that I would not have felt like this at all. I had always felt that I lived on the outside. I was always the insignificant one. I was not the oldest, the youngest, the smartest, the prettiest, or the strongest. I was just Helen. 


	9. The King's Sister

The King's Sister  
  
I waited many days for the arrival of the Lady Eówyn. During this time I saw little of the king, but when I did, he always took the time to inquire after my wellbeing. Those days were spent exploring the city. I had been given a horse. He was a fine animal, for not only are the Rohirrim riders, they are also breeders. The horse was a strong bay with a gently spirit. I do not think that the people were confident in my riding skills. I would have called him Chester, but the stable master disapproved when he learned that the name meant nothing. At last I settled for the name MiAmigo, which, in my limited Spanish I knew to mean my friend. [When I read this I found it odd that a woman of this time would know any Spanish, especially as the area she was from was not known for Spanish immigrants. I did some research and found that a group of Spanish-speaking people would travel around the area and work on the farms. I assume that is where she learned to speak Spanish.]  
  
At last I heard that the lady had arrived, and with great fanfare I was brought in to meet her. As was proper, she stood by her brother's side, but it was obvious that they loved each other very much. She was slim and pretty with the gold hair I had become accustomed to seeing. She smiled kindly, but the most noticeable thing about her was the joy that brimmed from her eyes. Every features seemed to glow with an inner light. She may not have truly been pretty, but I could not tell. Her joy made her beautiful.  
  
She greeted me in a proper but friendly fashion, and I answered back with respect. A the while, though, I wondered how this deliriously happy woman could relate to the pain I felt. After all, she had been raised a princess. How could she understand the troubles of a farm girl? 


	10. Banquet

After I met the Lady Eówyn, I was invited to a banquet that night that would be held in her honor. I had never been to one of these banquets before. In fact, I am not entirely sure that this was not the first festival since my arrival. Because I knew these banquets were important affairs, I retired to my rooms to dress. The serving ladies, Meira and Tavah, were thrilled to be given the opportunity to dress me in the formal styles of Rohan. We got into a bit of a spat about the proper way one should look when attending a royal banquet. I would have worn my brightest gown and best jewels and done my hair most elaborately, whilse they disagreed. According to their law the guests should never outshine the hosts. They would have my wear white or pale green and dress my hair down. We compromised. I wore a gown of their choosing; bright white of delicate linen, but my hair was done in intricate curls, plaits, and twists with flowers woven into the braids. When I looked at myself, in the quite lovely gown and dainty silver filigree jewelry, I was wont to agree with the fashion advice of Meira and Tavah.  
  
Tavah walked with me to the doors of the Golden Hall and patted my shoulder encouragingly. I pushed open the doors and was immersed in sound and smell and light. Tall white candles lit the corners of the hall not reached by enchanting moonlight and starlight. Sheer white curtains and bright green banners waved in the night breeze. The flickering of the candles added to the pulsing mystery of the music. Musicians stood in a corner, beating upon many different sized drums. My feet would not still. They kept the beat even as I walked. I was swept away with the swirling dancers before I even realized that I was moving. Now the musicians played a slow steady rhythm while blowing on high-pitched flutes. Now the drummers' hands were a blur as they beat upon the bass drums, the strings singing with their mournful voices. My heart beat madly and my breath came in short gasps, but not because I was tired. I had, in fact, never felt so alive. The music stirred deep in my soul.  
  
I do not know how long I danced thus, before my eye fell upon Lady Eówyn and Eómer King. They danced with a fierce abandon that told me that they felt the music as I had. My feet stopped moving as my entire being focused on dancing of the brother and sister. Eówyn's long hair whirled about her waist. Her feet moved lightly, swiftly, like quicksilver. The music had stirred my soul, but it was in, it WAS her soul. Eómer danced around his sister with the same graceful ease. They never looked away from each other, and they shed soft tears in the cool evening. It had been many years since they had danced on a happy occasion. The others stopped dancing as well, watching the royal siblings. Their dance was too beautiful to miss by one's own dancing. The music slowed a bit, the flutes and strings played a sad melody. The two dancers slowed with the music and their dance reflected the sadness of family long separated. Suddenly the drumbeat picked back up again. Faster and faster the beat grew. Eómer and Eówyn whirled around each other faster than the eye could discern. Suddenly the music stopped with a loud crescendo. The pair ended in perfect time, facing each other with their hands at their sides. No one spoke for a breathless moment as the two shared a dear reunion. At last the King spoke, still watching his sister.  
  
"My friends, let the feast begin!"  
  
A loud cheer erupted from the men, and there was a general movement toward the long tables about the hall. For the first time my mind acknowledged the delicious aromas wafting from the steaming dishes. The Lord and Lady of the hall took their seats at the head table, but I did not notice. At the last beat of the music I had realized how little I had in common with these people. When the music swirled about us I did not notice the difference, but now as they settled about the tables to talk of land and crops, I felt alone. I took a seat at a low table and silently took a bit of bread. I was wishing very much that I had not come when I hear a discreet cough beside me. I turned to see a man in strange livery. From his dark eyes and dark hair I surmised that he was not of Rohan. He was, in fact, a man of Gondor, part of the Lady's entourage. He gave to me a small deferential bow and spoke respectfully.  
  
"The Lady Helen's presence is requested at the head table."  
  
I gave a little gasp. I had not expected to be asked to take this honor. I was surprised that the King would take enough notice of me to make this request. I decided that I would leave.  
  
"No thank you, sir. Please tell his majesty that I am not insensible of the honor given me, but I would prefer to sit here with people of my own station."  
  
He frowned a little at me speech and I fervently hoped that I had worded it well. He shook his head a bit as he replied. "Although I am sure that his majesty the King of Rohan desires your presence as well, it is the Lady Eówyn that bids you sit by her."  
  
This was a complete surprise. I had decided that the Lady was cold and important, and I no more thought she would take notice of me then I would take of a peasant. Ah, how cold I was in those days. I look back at them with no small measure of shame. By calling myself a lowly farm girl I mentally exalted myself for my humility. At the same time I placed myself far above the station of those poor farmers. I believe at this point I stuttered a weak refusal, but I cannot forget the look on the man's face as he answered me.  
  
"Please, please come. It's for my Lady." When he said this I realized how very much he loved "his lady." I was learning the nature of true nobility, and their chance to rule in a way that would make even their servants love them. I suppose I nodded my agreement, for the next moment I walked across the hall and seated myself by the lady's side. She was dressed much like I was, in a simple white gown, but her golden hair was loose, and she wore a lovely crown. Her true title was that of a Princess in Gondor, but that is a lesson in politics and nobility that I have not the time nor inclination to tell.  
  
We exchanged some pleasantries during the course of the meal. She asked me a great deal about Spruce Havens, and I told her everything. I remembered it as it was before the war. I told her of the great horse pasture to the front of the house. I told her how I could look out at any moment and see a dozen of the fine animals grazing or running. My tale interested the King so that he turned from the nobleman at his side and listened as I told of the new breed my father had been developing. It was to be one that was comfortable enough to ride all day. When the war began he sold his breeding stock to a man in Tennessee. We kept only a few workhorses and our own hacks. The two of them were sympathetic to my plight. Eómer told me of his own steed, and Eówyn matched him by telling of her horses in Gondor. We passed a pleasant evening.  
  
As we neared the end minstrels with their violins walked to the center of the room. Eówyn smiled at me.  
  
"Now we will hear stories and tales. The history of Middle Earth and Rohan will be presented in song!" She was very excited. My excitement lasted until the minstrels began to sing of people I had never heard. Helm and Eórn and countless others were lauded in song. My eyes were nearly closed in sleep when I heard a familiar name. A wiry minstrel whose name I had not caught bowed before the King.  
  
"Now I will sing to you of Frodo the Nine-Fingered and the War of the Ring." He lifted his bow to his strings. Just at that moment a small voice piped up, "And Samwise the Brave! Don't forget him! Frodo couldn't of done it without him. At least that's what my dad says."  
  
Laughs floated about the room as the embarrassed mother tried to shush her child, but the minstrel turned to the little boy and bowed deeply. "The young one is wise indeed. It is a lesson to us all, that the largest deeds may be done by the smallest person." He bowed again and began his tune. It went on for a long time. This was the second time I had heard the story, but it was the first time that Samwise had featured in it so largely.  
  
After the minstrels came more dancing. It was not so wild this time. The Lady Eówyn chose not to dance, so I danced with Eómer King. He taught me the steps I did not know. Bit by bit the crowd thinned. As the morning sun arose the last guests had left the hall. The Lady Eówyn sat alone at the high table. I sat beside her, grateful for the rest for my feet. She smiled at me a bit, but her eyes were once again on her brother. He walked toward us, bidding me goodbye. He kissed Eówyn's cheek, then walked slowly onto a balcony. Eówyn watched him, then whispered to me.  
  
"I would that my brother could find the happiness that I possess. The shadow has retreated, but I fear that a greater burden has fallen upon his shoulders. Now he must rule a kingdom." She looked at me with tears in her eyes. "My brother is very lonely." 


	11. Eowyn's Story

I awoke the next morning to a lovely strain of music. Quickly I dressed and walked out onto my balcony. The Lady Eówyn sat on a wee green hill, lovely in her white dress, playing a stringed instrument much like our fiddle. The head carved like a horse's, so that the seven strings seemed to be its mane. The bottom of the instrument narrowed to a swallowtail-like point. The whole sound was different from a fiddle, it had a different voice, less mournful. Rather then lift it on her shoulder, Eówyn held the strange instrument across her body so that her left hand held the horse's head and the point rested on the ground at her right side. She seemed to alternate between strumming it and rolling a curved bow over it. Spotting me, she finished the final notes of her cheery morning song and waved. Her voice carried easily to where I stood.  
  
"I bid thee good morning, Wayfarer! I trust your sleep was as sweet as mine!"  
  
The clean new air had put me in a good disposition so I answered back; "If the lady's sleep was as sweet as mine then she has indeed rested well." We both laughed and she invited me to join her for a breakfast on the hill. "A picnic!" I said.  
  
We sat looking over Edoras as we ate of fresh bread and fruit. She pointed out to me the various points of its geography, naming the mountain ranges and telling me bits of history about her country. When we had finished the morning mist had lifted and the sun began its trek across the sky. I loved the way the deep green of the pastures contrasted the colors of the grazing horses. The sky was so blue, and the mountains were so dark. I felt a deep peace. "It's so beautiful." I told her. She looked out across the fields smiling thoughtfully.  
  
"And would you believe that at one time my only thought was to leave this place forever?" Her gaze was serious as she looked at me. I knew that at last I would hear the story surrounding her. She smiled and looked away again, her eyes not seeing the ghosts of the past. "My father died when I was very young. He was killed in a battle. Not long after my mother also left my side, and my brother and I were taken to live with our uncle, the king. For a time the sun was bright in my eyes, and to all was beautiful. My cousin appointed himself my friend and my brother my protector. In these halls I was the princess. Then a dark time arrived, in the form of Grima Wormtongue" There was a fathomless depth of disgust in her voice as she said the name. "He appointed himself as friend and advisor to the king, and to all Rohan he seemed a loyal companion. But his words were poisoned, and they awoke in some the heart to do much evil, in others the heart of discontent, and in still others the heart to do nothing. Many realized soon what craft he worked upon them and shook off his enchantment. To all the kingdom he became loathsome, except to two."  
  
She became silent and at last I dared say, "You?"  
  
She nodded sadly. "Over the king he wove a spell of apathy. When enemies rose up to strike us at every side the king sat on his throne and allowed the words of Grima to dull his mind. To me - " she gave a little sigh. "To me he wove a great spell of discontent. I began to hate that which I had loved before. My heart was turned away from the good and I longed for glory and adventure. Inside." She turned to face me now as she spoke intently. "Inside I was bitter. The death of my cousin and banishment of my brother did nothing to lighten this burden. I professed love for all, but in truth I felt it for none - least of all for myself. Thus my heart was ripe for the arrival of the king." Her voice took on a different tone, one of respect and awe.  
  
"King?" I asked, "Not your uncle?"  
  
She gave a merry laugh. "Nay, dear friend! Not my uncle, for he sat on his throne unaware of even the death of his son. This king was one who walked tall even among the tallest of men. Fair of face and noble of spirit, he walked boldly into the Golden Hall. With him were strange companions, although one at least I knew by sight. T'was Gandalf the Grey, the Grey Pilgrim, he is known by many names. Also with him were an elf and a dwarf, though surely a stranger pairing was never seen!" For some reason that I have yet to fathom she found this bit quite funny. I suppose it may be because the elves are tall and fair and the dwarves are short and swarthy. [To any readers who do not understand, the elves and dwarves have a longstanding feud that has a lot to do with greed and gold. If you wish to know more please look in another volume, as this diary never goes into detail.]  
  
But I digress, she continued. "The Grey Pilgrim proved himself to have gained much more authority then when we had last met. He was now Gandalf the White, the head of his order. With his new power he assisted Theóden King in throwing off his apathy and ousting the traitor Wormtongue. My heart was lost to Aragorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. Perhaps it was the confidence with which he walked, perhaps it was that he seemed to posses everything that I lacked. But his heart had been given to another, to Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar to her people, from the fair land of Imladris. While his attitude toward me was all kindness and propriety, his devotion to her never wavered.  
  
"My heart was hardened when I learned that I must go with the women and children while the men fought in our great fortress, Helm's Deep. I feared for those whom I would never see again. Yet they returned triumphant. I learned that King Elessar-" At this point I interrupted to inquire who the King Elessar was, and she remedied her statement. "Aragorn was going through the paths of the dead, on a march sure to be doomed, I begged him to allow me to go. He was kind toward me, but firm. I must stay with the women and children. I could not follow his path. I think that perhaps he knew that my true desire was to meet death. When my brother and Theóden King were summoned to ride to the aide of Gondor, I begged to go along. I pleaded to them to allow a shieldmaiden of Rohan to ride with her people, yet they also refused. It was then that he arrayed myself in men's armor and became known as the knight Dernhelm. With me rode a hobbit, a halfling called Meriadoc."  
  
Now her voice deepened and softened, like a mother reading to her child a very sad part of a book. "And it came to pass that in the battle Theóden King was crushed by his own horse. And the knight Dernhelm would not allow her king to be killed by his enemy, so she challenged him, the witch-king of Angmar. When she had slain his ferocious mount he turned to her and shattered her shield arm with a swipe of his dark maze. She fell to the ground awaiting death, nay welcoming it. It was then that she heard a small voice cry out 'Eówyn, Eówyn!' Lifting her head she saw the Black Rider falling, stabbed in the knee by a hobbit sword. Rising with all her strength she hewed the great head from the body." Tears glistened in Eówyn's eyes and she panted as if living every moment one last time. She had not the strength to tell her story directly, and had begun to tell it as if it were someone else's tale. Now she pulled herself together and continued in a calmer way. "Darkness fell around me. The last memory I have of that battlefield is the piercing wail of the slain. Then I awoke in a room to find kind faces bent over me." She stopped as if that were the end of her story and looked at me.  
  
I sat for a long moment in silence. I had felt some of the despair that the Lady had felt, even thought as she that I would welcome death, but I had yet to do any great feat. I had not redeemed myself. I looked at her, so beautiful, and saw for the first time the lines of age around her eyes, and the slightly crippled arm. At last I spoke, "So by doing a great deed you redeemed yourself?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, for when I awoke the shadow was as thick in my heart as ever. The enemy had been driven back, indeed, he was being challenged in his very gates, but in my own soul he still held the throne. For when I had awakened from dark dreams, and found the face of my lord the King and my brother bending near me, I felt no joy of my deeds, nor hope for the future. My only hope was in riding out again, in taking the saddle of a fallen Rider and finding respite in death."  
  
"I don't understand," I said, "You are not dead, yet you no longer search for its peace. What changed?"  
  
She smiled in a lovely way as she spoke. "Love, Helen Wayfar, love transforms even the hardest of hearts. For when I awoke again I found the armies gone and myself restrained into the house of the healers. It was then that I met the son of the steward of Gondor, Faramir." She said this name in a caressing manner, and seemed transported to happy times. The look on her face told me that this was the great love of her life. "While the King of Gondor is the healer of my body, Helen, it is the Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, who healed my heart. It was when my heart stopped desiring after being a Queen that I was truly free. I discovered that it is love, not death that brings the truest freedom."  
  
So it was that I heard the story of the Lady Eówyn, and learned a great truth. 


	12. On the Road

I did not soon forget the lesson of love learned from the lady, but it would be some time before I truly understood it. These next few weeks were very pleasant. We took many rides and picnics as Lady Éowyn showed to me her favorite childhood haunts. On many of these occasions we were joined by Éomer. It was in these informal moments that I saw the humorous side of him. He was not all pomp and majesty. In fact, at times he could be quite a prankster. The responsibilities of a kingdom weighed heavily on him, but he still found moments to be boyish. I cannot remember how many times I have been pushed into a brook by a laughing Éomer or how many times I have raced the siblings across a wide field.  
  
Éowyn and I became such fast friends that when the time drew near for her to depart to her own country we were quite reluctant to be separated. We had spent many late nights whispering and giggling like schoolgirls, and I was going to miss her company. It was Éomer who suggested that I travel with Éowyn to Gondor and meet her husband and the King Elessar. The next few days were a whirl of activity as Meira and Tavah sought to teach me all they knew of Gondor while they packed my belongings for the journey.  
  
Our things were to be loaded in a wagon, but Éowyn and I were to ride on our horses. I cannot remember the name of her horse. I do not know why I can't. Perhaps at long last my age is catching up with me. They say that one first loses one's memory. My hair is white as snow, yet I cannot reconcile myself to the fact that I am old. Perhaps that is why I have decided to write up my tale. I have felt very young as I have written these pages. It does not seem possible that people in that land can grow old. There, I've once again wondered off of my thought pattern. I was writing about the horses. Éowyn's was lovely. She was a sweet chestnut mare, about 6 years old. I can see the way she lifted her little feet when she walked. My Amigo was large and strong, not nearly as pretty as Éowyn's little horse, yet he served my purpose. He was one of the best horses that I have ever owned. But back to my story.  
  
As we left Edoras Éomer promised to come to Gondor in a few weeks time to escort me back to Rohan. As the order was given to move out he suddenly told me that my hobbit guide had improved and that he would be escorting the Proudfoot back to the Shire. I had not thought of the little fellow for quite some time. I guiltily remembered his wounds and chastised myself for not visiting him. Perhaps this Éomer could read minds, for he quickly informed me that the healers would not have allowed a lady near the convalescing hobbit. Then with great fanfare we left Edoras and rode toward Gondor. 


	13. Troubling Dream

A few hard days of marching from Edoras will bring you to Gondor, but we moved at leisure. The weather was fair and there was much to see. We crossed many a lofty mountain and rushing stream. We were a merry party, and though we were preceded by scouts and protected by soldiers, we sang and laughed without a care. I can hear it all still. There was the creak of saddle leather and jangling of bits, the plodding and clopping of horses' hooves. One could hear two or three languages spoken at any given time, the deep voices of the men blending with the higher, softer voices of the women. Then there were the nature sounds. The wind, the water, the bees flying about, and the joyous songs of the birds: all wove about us a spell of contentment. At night such jolly times we had. When our pavilions were pitched we gathered round the fires and danced and sang. I hear such marvelous tales.

One night, after our singing and feasting, I went to rest in the large tent that I shared with Éowyn and three other women of our company. I wrapped myself in a blanket and lay on my pallet. Sleeping on the ground was a novelty to me, and one that I never learned to enjoy. I tossed and turned for a while before falling into a restless sleep. A dream was not long forthcoming, and it was one that branded itself into my mind with its terror.

I was once again at Spruce Haven, sitting on the front porch of the house. Beside me sat my sister, and standing near her was her fiancé. It was before the war, then. We seemed to be watching the sunrise, and I anticipated seeing our horses galloping over the eastern pasture. But as the sun rose in silent majesty, its scarlet rays illuminated a fearful specter. 

It stood with its feet planted firmly apart and faced us menacingly. It was clothed in the garb of a Continental soldier, but wore a hood of black. Its right hand rested on a pistol at its hip, but its left held a saber. In the glow of the sun the sword glinted red and its tip pointed toward the south. As I watched, men poured from the North, East, and West; and lined up behind the pale specter. I saw childhood friends and respected neighbors answer the figure's silent call. My sister's beau kissed her hand then moved to specter's side. The men began to march and as they did frightening the figure looked back at me. For one moment I saw fully beneath its hood. No lineaments were therein. It was a viscous skull. Its eyes glowed like rubies. As the light of the sun moved higher in the sky he lifted his sword in salute. I saw that it was not a saber. The figure carried a scythe. He was none other then the Grim Reaper. He sneered and moved to the side. I gasped as I recognized one fellow at his side. The tall boy with curly brown hair and pale studious face, I knew him as well as my own father. I must warn him of who he followed. I jumped from my seat and ran toward him.

"Robbie! Robert" I screamed, but he could not hear me. My brother lifted a gun to his shoulder and marched to the south following the Grim Reaper. The scene faded away and I heard a sinister laugh from old Death. Now I stood on the copse behind my home. To my front was the house, and smoke rose about me in choking clouds. Something like thunder rumbled about me. Death's laugh turned into agonized screams. When the smoke settled I saw all around me disfigured corpses and three tombstones. Try as I might, I could not get close enough to them to read the inscription. I lost all control of my body. I saw strangers enter my home. They carried what seemed to be dead men, but I soon realized to be sick or wounded soldiers. Then the thunder began again. I turned to look behind me and faced a man dressed in gray. He lifted his gun and pointed it at me. Another crack of thunder drove me back. I was falling to the ground. I hit hard.

I woke up to rain falling outside the tent. And tears on my face.


	14. A Grand City

On the morning of our seventh day of travel, we came to Minas Tirith. It was a fine morning, though chill. As we rode over the last small hill the sun shone forth through the heavy fog that had so far prevented us from seeing a hint of the city. As the fog faded away and became a thin mist, I saw it. It was carved from the side of the mountain and rose to the sky in many towers and turrets. At the very top of the city was one tower, Ecthelion. We heard the sound of trumpets echoing off of the mountainside, but I was not sure if they announced our arrival or merely welcomed the morning. I remember the way my breath caught in my throat as our calvacade broke into a gallop down the hill, Éowyn leading the way. By the time we were within a few yards of the city I could hear the people shouting with excitement, "The White Lady! The Lady has returned! Éowyn! Éowyn!" The mighty gates had been opened before us and Éowyn thundered through them and out of sight. I followed slowly, allowing my horse to move at a creeping pace as my eyes tried to take in all the wonder around me. In my travels in this fair land I had yet to see anything like this. I had earlier compared Edoras to Camelot, but compared to this city, Edoras was a farmer's village. I felt certain I had stepped through the pearly gates. Surely the architect of this city had been granted a glimpse of that glory, for it was almost beyond belief. 

I do not know how long I sat on the back of my horse thus absorbed, but at last my mind began to register a few things. The sun was much brighter than it had been when I had first rode through the gates, the loud voices and trumpets could be heard no more, and I had no idea where I or any of the members of our party were. I was amongst some modest homes, although even they were worth looking at, where the working class lived. I could see no glimpse of the others. In fact, my horse seemed to be the only horse around, for the townspeople were staring from their doorways and whispering amongst themselves. Before I could panic I forced myself to concentrate and think of where they could have gone. I noticed again that the highest point of the city was one tower. It seemed to be the place where royalty would dwell, so I moved Amigo to a trot and began a slow ascent. Before I had gone too far, a page in black and silver livery ran to my side.

"Are you the Wayfarer, Helen?" he asked breathlessly.

"I am." I said hoping that this stranger could lead me to Éowyn. My wishes were fulfilled. The lady had reached her home, he said, and then realized that her friend was no where to be found. Four pages had been scouring the city for me since. He lifted a small silver trumpet to his lips and gave a few short blasts. The three answering blasts from various parts of the city acknowledged the signal.

"My companions are now aware that you have been found. Come, the lady awaits." With that he turned and ran up the road. He signaled Amigo and we followed. The page ran rather fast. I was surprised. A few moments later I slowed Amigo to a walk again, and I'm sure my mouth was hanging open in a most undignified way. We had reached the palace of the king, and I was overwhelmed. I dismounted and handed the reins to the page who took my horse and disappeared. A graceful maid greeted me and took me into the palace. We walked through a bewildering maze of halls and rooms too grand for me to describe before coming to a set of wooden doors. The woman swung the doors opened and announced (her first words since she had welcomed me) "Helen, Wayfarer," and backed out of the room shutting the door behind her. I was immediately enveloped in a warm embrace and heard Éowyn's penitent tones as she apologized for leaving me alone in the city. Of course I told her it was my fault, and then she said, "I have someone here that I have longed for you to meet."

When I turned to look at the other person in the room, my heart skipped a beat. I was sure that this was the most handsome man I had ever met. He had the look of a warrior, and yet still the look of a poet. His hair and eyes were soft brown. He seemed loyal and kind. This must be Éowyn's Faramir, I thought. He bowed to me graciously and welcomed me to Gondor. I enjoyed listening to his voice, and found myself wanting to ask him to sing. The three of us sat on a group of couches and talked for a few moments. In truth I doubt that I spoke a word. I was watching Faramir, the way he spoke and moved his hands, but mostly the way he looked at Éowyn. It was clear that he thought her the most wonderful woman in the world. And isn't that the way it is supposed to be?

At some time during our interview I realized that it must be nearing one in the afternoon, and I had not eaten since that morning. I am afraid that my stomach made its presence known, for suddenly Éowyn said aloud that I must be famishing and rang a bell, and then before I knew it a bevy of servants were bring trays and whatnot. The next hour passed in a blur and then I was standing in a suite of rooms that were to be my own. I was there to rest and bathe and prepare myself for dinner that night. The King Elessar and his wife the Queen Evenstar had invited Faramir and Éowyn and me to join them for a private dinner on a terrace. A page would take me there when I was ready. 

My suite was, of course, very lovely. It was hung in shades of purple that ranged from palest lavender to dark plum. Fresh flowers adorned every available tabletop, and paintings graced the walls. I decided to study the paintings in depth later, but for now I would explore the rooms. First was the parlor area, with its couches and hearth. Behind it was an archway, hung with nearly transparent cloth, that led out to a balcony. On the right and left were two more archways. A quick glance in one revealed the bedroom, but the other was more interesting. I found some sort of bathing room. I have never seen its like anywhere else. There were sconces on either side of a full length mirror, various pitchers for water, and other normal sort of things you'd need for bathing, but the amazing thing was the huge tub. I was accustomed to a small washtub at home, but this was different. It was rectangular, sunken into the floor, and paved with smooth gray stones. Built into the wall around it were shelves for various bottles of ointments and oils. The tub was filled by a pump tht pulled the water straight from its source into the room. Hot water was ingeniously provided. A stone cabinet with two shelves was built into the corner of two walls. The top shelf held a huge copper kettle, and the bottom a grate for building a fire. Once the water was heated a copper pipe would pour the water into the tub with a twist of a handle. It was a simple device really, but wonderful.

A maid, whose name escapes me, came to help me bathe. She rubbed scented oils into my hair and cleaned my nails with a scented stick. When I was through I wrapped myself in a large silky robe and lay on my bed to sleep.


	15. The King of Gondor

The King of Gondor

I remember quite vividly that first meeting with the King and Queen of Gondor. The weather was pleasantly warm, and a delicious breeze was blowing. I had been dressed in stately apparel befitting a dinner with the royalty of Gondor yet in style like the clothing of the Rohirrim. I stepped through many halls and arches and was bewildered by the beauty and grandeur of this palace. It seemed that I had stepped into an ancient time beyond all human reckoning. Beside the great palace of Minas Tirith the pyramids would seem a part of recent history. I tread softly, barely daring to breathe as I looked upon paintings and statues of kings and men of old. At last I came to a large, but not overly huge, room all hung in green. This was the private receiving room of the King Elessar and his wife the Queen Evenstar. Along these walls were newer paintings then the ones I had seen in the passageways. My guide left me with a bow and instructions to wait, so I took the time to study the paintings. I had not looked at them for long when I realized with a thrill that they were the story of the War of the Ring that Éomer had related to me. I was standing before the last in the series, showing the crowning of the King, when I heard a voice behind me.

"Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world." *

I turned quickly to find four fair folk standing in the room. I had been so engrossed in the paintings that I had not heard them enter. After staring dumbstruck for a moment or two, I realized that two of the figures I knew at least. They were Faramir and Éowyn, but garbed as royalty. The other two were fair beyond description. The man was tall and brawny. His hair was dark, yet flecked with grey. His eyes were also grey, like a storm at sea. He wore on his head a winged crown and bore a scepter in his hand. The lady that stood beside him was breathtaking. She was only a very little bit shorter than the King, still much taller then Éowyn. Her hair was dark as night, but her eyes were blazing blue. There was something about her that made her seem not human, although no feature of her was wrong. I knew from discussion with Éowyn that the Queen was thousands of years old, yet in studying her face I could see no sign of age, unless it be the deep wisdom in her eyes. It was the first time I gazed upon one of the elven folk, the immortal beings of Middle Earth. I at last recovered my good breeding and made a deep bow, but I had not recovered myself enough to make a proper remark. I think that the Queen understood my plight, for she smiled at me kindly and welcomed me.

"We have heard much about you, Lady Helen, from the Princess of Ithilien, our friend, the Shieldmaiden. You are welcome here."

Éowyn subtly signed for me to stand, and I did, but not easily, and not without a distinctive wobbling in my knees. The King motioned to some servants who stood quietly in the doorway to prepare our dinner, and then led us through the Green Room to a terrace nearby. The servants bustled about like a hive of bees, putting down dishes and goblets. A short, broad table had been laid with fine linen and spread with delicate dishware. Around it were ornate be-cushioned couches for us. When we were seated, with the King at the head of the table and his wife at his left hand, Faramir at his right, and I beside the Queen with Éowyn across from me, and when we had begun eating, the King spoke to me for the first time.

"Lady, our beloved friend, the White Lady of Rohan has told us much about your travels. We know that you come from a distant land where there is war and trouble. We are hoping to abide in peace in these lands, but we would hear more about your country." He spoke very formally, and I did not feel very comfortable, never having learned to speak before royalty. The lessons I had learned in Rohan had helped me some, but the court of Rohan and the court of Gondor are much different. I answered as best I could, dwelling not overlong on the troubles of my country, but instead talking of all the good I had seen in it. I especially told about the founding of the country, and as Éowyn had never heard that part of my tale before, all there remained interested to the end of my tale. (Still I was much relieved to finish and allow the others to speak.)

Faramir spoke first, asking whether our King was a learned man, and what he knew of warfare, and if our terrain and army were better suited for open warfare on horses or defensive warfare from great cities. I did not wish to explain that we did not have a king, so I merely said that Lincoln was an educated man, but that his generals mostly ran the war, and that the armies were fighting from forts, fields, and sea. This led to a discussion between the two men about the political and military aspects of the Union's situation, and they soon became so embroiled in their discussion that they forgot to eat and the three women at the table sat back and watched. If the King and Faramir had been running the war, it would have been over in a few short days. Or at least they seemed to think so. For some time this went on, until the Queen gently touched her husband on the arm and he corrected himself with a start.

"I apologize, Lady Helen. I fear that the intricacies of your situation have caused me to forget my duties as a host." I murmured some silly remark about it not mattering, and the rest of the dinner was devoted to a sort of question-and-answer cession about me and how I was enjoying my time in Rohan and Gondor. In truth I would have preferred the political discussion to talking about myself.

*By J.R.R Tolkein. From Aragorn's coronation


	16. Another Dream

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Another Dream

It was on my first night in Minas Tirith, curled up on the luxuriously soft bed, that I dreamed of home for a second time. It seemed to me that I stood once again on the hill to the west of my house. The sun rose over the mountains directly to my front, and as the morning mist lifted I could clearly see the house and stables. I saw no sign of the battle on the land, as I had in the last dream, so I knew that this dream took place before the other.

As I watched, I saw a young woman carrying a bag run up the drive to the house. A man and woman burst from the front door to meet her, hugging her and spinning her around. As is the gift of all dreamers, I could see and hear everything that happened although I stood some distance away. The older woman clung to the younger murmuring, "Cathy, Cathy."

Cathy squeezed her back. "Mama, I came as soon as I heard about Robbie. It's so awful. How are you doing?"

The man touched her head, "It's been lonely, little girl. Your mama has missed you somethin fierce. First Ben and Dan and Robbie leave, and then we find out that Robbie won't be comin back. And then your sister – "

Cathy backed up quickly, "What happened to Helen?" She looked at mother, "Mama?" No answer, "Papa?"

He sighed, "I guessed you mightn't have heard. Helen's gone, Cathy. No one knows where she is."

I wanted badly to shout at them, "I'm right here!" but the scene shifted to midday. It might have been the same day or it might have been weeks later. I could not tell. A tow-headed young boy sprinted through the pasture and vaulted the fence yelling, "The lists is here! Miz Wayfar! Miss Cathy! The lists has come! The lists has come!" 

Mother and Cathy wrenched the door open and behaved as I had never seen those ladylike women behave before, grabbing the sheets of paper from the boy's hand. Mother scanned the names nervously as Cathy grabbed the boy's shoulder, "Nate Parker, run to the south field and tell Mr. Wayfar to come as quick as he can." Cathy had barely finished before the boy sprang from her grasp and ran to do her bidding. Cathy turned to find mother standing still as stone, all the sheets but one scattered on the ground about her. "Mother?"

"I can't look, Cathy. I just can't" Cathy took the last page from mother and clasped her hand.

"I'll look, Mama. I've seen too many casualty lists to let one more break my heart." She spoke bitterly, but Mama didn't rebuke her. She just hung onto Cathy's arm and lay her head on Cathy's shoulder. Cathy took a deep breath and read, "Tate, Teal, Turner, Turner, Vanderbilt, Van Hausen, Veal, Wanni, Washington…." She gasped and paused before going on, "Wayfar, Wayfar."

Mama lifted her head slowly, her face white as a sheet, "Two of them? Could there be other Wayfars? Oh to think that I would ever wish that some other woman would lose her sons."

Cathy shook her head, "No Mama. It says Daniel Wayfar and Benjamin Wayfar." For all her bravado her voice shook and she clenched her teeth. 

Two tears ran down Mama's face. "First Robbie, then Helen, now Dan and Ben. Oh Cathy! How shall I bear it?" The two women clung to each other for support. For the second time in all these strange adventures I awoke with tears on my face.


	17. A Change of Scenery

****

A Change of Scenery

I spent pleasant days in the grand city, yet it became quite apparent to me that I was not meant for city life. I found myself longing for woods and flowers as I stayed in this city of hard stone. I did not see much more of the King or Queen, so while I heard many stories about them, I was unable to form much of an opinion on them.

After a week, Faramir and Éowyn left Minas Tirith for their home in Ithilien, taking me with them. I found Ithilien much more to my liking. They had not yet completed their permanent home, which would e built to reflect both Gondorian and Rohirrim architecture, so they lived in a simple building that put my in the mind of the log cabins frontiersmen build. It was homier to me. There were simple gardens around it, and Éowyn's stock had free run of the wooded countryside.

One day as I was sitting in the house, Faramir pulled out a black trunk bound in leather and showed me the contents. His prinde in the shards of woods and metal confounded me until he told me that these were the remains of the shield that Éowyn had carried into battle with the Witch-King. The love that shone from his grey eyes warmed my heart, and I wondered if ever I would see a man hold my trophies in such high esteem or speak of me with the same expression.


	18. Well met, Mr Darcy!

****

Well met, Mr. Darcy!

I remember every detail of the day Éomer returned from his errand to the Shire. I had been riding alone, enjoying the cool breeze and the smell of the flowers. It seemed that winter could never come to this beautiful place. For some reason my mind wandered to "Elizabeth Bennet" from _Pride and Prejudice_. I thought that I knew how she felt on her first inspection of Pemberley, and wandered like she what it would be like to call this place home permanently. So intent was I on the study of "Mr. Darcy's" character that followed, that when a horseman appeared on the horizon I nearly stood in my stirrups and shouted, "Well met, Mr. Darcy!" Fortunately I held my tongue until the cantering figure was near enough for me to recognize his face.

"Éomer, King!" I shouted in salute and raised my hand. Amigo shifted beneath me as Éomer turned his horse in my direction and quickened his pace. When he reached my side I could see that his horse was tired and that he was still wearing his travel-stained clothes. "Surely you did not gallop all the way here rom the Shire." I said archly.

He shook his head, "When I reached Minas Tirith I was told that you had traveled to Ithilien. Yet I reached my sister's house and did not find you there." He dismounted easily and looked up at me, saying admonishingly, "I began to think you had returned to your own home."

I sat looking at him thoughtfully for a moment then shrugged and said wryly, "How would I have accomplished that, oh mighty woodsmen? Can you tell me the direction in which my city lies?" We smiled at one another and Éomer helped me to dismount. We walked side-by-side for a while, reins looped over arms.

"Did you have something of import to tell me?" I asked to break the silence.

Éomer started out of his reverie then nodded, "Oh! Yes, I wanted to tell you that the hobbit reached his home safely." He said nothing more, just looked at me proudly. I raised my eyebrows. "….And," he said in answer to my look, "I saw Master Hobylta – Merry. He could not comprehend why I felt I must rush back 'Without even the most tiny bite!'"

I laughed and nodded, "That is just what a hobbit would say." We walked a few more paces before I asked, "Why _did_ you rush back?"

He stopped and stared at me, frowning in confusion as he tried to formulate an answer, "Well – I – that is" he stopped then shrugged, "I knew you would desire news of the young hobbit."

"Ah." I said, but something thrilled strangely in my stomach and my cheeks felt curiously hot.


	19. Sharing

_Apologies for not putting up more of the diary before now, but a great deal of the following pages were hard to decipher as there was some water damage. _

The strange new feeling that welled up inside of me only grew in the time that Éomer stayed in his sister's home. We found a great deal of time to spend together in the sort of activities that both of our worlds have in common. We read poetry and sang songs, told little stories of childhood, rode, walked, and picnicked. Those days are a pleasant blur in my mind. Only one episode stands clear in my mind. It was quite common, but striking.

Éowyn, Faramir, Éomer, and I were sitting together in a fire lit room after a simple evening meal when our chatter turned to a sharing of legends and songs. Of the four of us Faramir was without a doubt the most talented in this realm, and for the most part we listened to his clear, educated tones. At times, though Éowyn would join in with a folk tune or Éomer would give a recitation of a poem of the Rohirrim. On this night we fell into a melancholy and our stories took a sad tone. Éowyn sang a sweet love song that I remember clearly:

"I fell in love one summer,

With a rider brave and true,

A rider of the East-mark,

With eyes of sapphire-blue

_Wreath my hair in simbelmynë,_

_Evermind to keep me true,_

_In remembrance of a rider,_

_With eyes of sapphire-blue" (1)_

There was a great deal more went on this way. Then it was my turn to recite, and I gave to first thing that came to mind:

"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,  
So do our minutes hasten to their end,  
Each changing place with that which goes before  
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.  
Nativity, once in the main of light,  
Crawls to maturity, wherewith, being crowned,  
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight  
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.  
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,  
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,  
Feeds on the rarities of natures truth,  
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow;  
And yet, to times, in hope, my verse shall stand,  
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand." (2)

"What does it mean?" asked Faramir.

"That everything fades with time," said I. Our night ended on that solemn note.

1: _Simbelmynë _by Jen Littlebottom (used with permission)

2: _Sonnet 60 _by William Shakespeare


	20. Discussing

I cannot merely say that I grew in my feelings for the Rohirric King without explaining. I found myself to admire him more than any man of my acquaintance, though he had not the regal air of the King of Gondor or the gentle learnedness of the Prince of Ithilien. In him I found a likeness of mind and purpose. He was one not highly educated or well brought up so as to distance him from me, but one with whom I could relate. While I often felt tongue-tied or provincial in the presence of the other men, with him I was relaxed, at home.

I was uncertain at this time of his feelings for me. The mere fact that he had rushed his journey from Hobbitton and come straight to see me before seeing his sister was not enough reason to start hemming dishtowels, and so like any gentle lady of my time I remained aloof. I had not quite mastered the subtle art of flirting that some of the more leisurely girls of my acquaintance did so well, so our interaction was based more on honestly. Not everything we did was a ride or picnic. We found time to discuss deep subjects such as politics and government. Our most interesting discussion was one of religion.

I had been endeavoring to read a book of history that Faramir had recommended to me when Éomer found me and invited me to walk with him. Only too glad to stop puzzling over the archaic language I pocketed the book and fell in stride with him. For the first few moments there was silence, which I broke by commenting on the weather. He gave me a startled look as if he had forgotten that I was nearby and stuttered some mundane reply. I laughed and commented that I was glad to hear his voice, and that I had been afraid that somehow the air had stolen him of his ability to speak. We then were able to converse freely and our topic became serious when I questioned the religious beliefs of his people.

"They are rather… nebulous. We are not certain entirely what we believe. There is good deal of legend surrounding the creation of our world, and we know that there is a right and a wrong, but who exactly dictates this? There is always dispute." He then told me many of the legends and lore of the gods and their servants. There seemed to be a common theme, though, of one god who ruled over the lesser gods, enough of a commonality that I felt comfortable in comparing it my own beliefs. He was enthralled. "Created, in seven days by one God?"

"Yes," I answered, and watched with joy his child-like response. "What a wonderful story. You must share this with Faramir." I promised to do so and as a result spent the next several nights telling many stories from the Bible. Deborah was a favorite of Éowyn while Éomer preferred the swashbuckling adventures of David and Faramir the studious reflections of Daniel. "He'll be trying to sleep with lions now, I hope you know." Éowyn whispered to me, loud enough that her husband was sure to hear. "He's always having these delusions of grandeur.


	21. More Songs

I found that all the times we spent together I could not keep from watching Éomer. There was no doubt that I found him quite handsome. I admired his strong body, his warm brown eyes and sensitive features, but more than that I admired him as a person. He was used to survival, to fighting for life, yet he could be so gentle and caring. When I watched him I found that I, too, lost trail of whatever we happened to be doing at the moment. Once when he felt my eyes on him and turned to look at me my breath caught in my throat. He smiled softly and I felt positively giddy. I sternly pulled my emotions in check, for at that time women and men both were taught not to feel deeply in any way. As a rule now, only men are forced to keep back their emotions in this unnatural way. In my old age I have decided to show my emotions, firmly believing that God would not have given humans the ability to feel and show it if he had wanted them to be stiff and unnatural.

I remember one charming day as the four of us rode toward some destination. We were young and carefree and felt it. Éowyn really began the silliness. We had stopped talking and were admiring the view of the mountains when she began humming to herself softly. Not too softly for Faramir to hear. The doting husband asked her to sing aloud. "It's only a little childhood ditty," she protested laughing, but the man was so besotted he insisted that it would be beautiful. She laughed at him and sang the song. Éomer joined in and his surprisingly soft tenor blended beautifully with her strong alto. The song as I remember it went a little like this,

"The chestnut speeds on light feet

The black on night feet

But the funny little spotted roan

Runs on hooves that are his own."

Of course after we had laughed and teased there was a call for more songs. Faramir sang a little lullaby that his mother would sing to him,

"Kings of men

May rise or fall

As kings will always do

But king or knave

I'll love you dear

I'll watch forever over you."

Naturally they called upon me to sing next. I chose a lullaby my own mother sang to me:

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee

All through the night

Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night;  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,  
I my loving vigil keeping,  
All through the night.

While the moon her watch is keeping,  
All through the night  
While the weary world is sleeping,  
All through the night  
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,  
Visions of delight revealing  
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,  
All through the night.

Éomer smiled at me softly, "You will make a wonderful mother," he said. When Faramir and Éowyn laughed we both blushed and looked away, which made the two laugh all the more.1

1 "All through the night" by Sir Harold Boulton


	22. Firsts

I remember my first beau. Well, I remember some things about him. I don't remember his name or his farm, but I do remember his bright red hair and cheerful grin. I was maybe fifteen at the time, and we danced twice at a town celebration. He walked me home after that and my older sister teased me that he was my beau. After that we danced at all of the parties and he came over sometimes during the lunch hour to bring me an apple or some other little treat. I was fond of him, but mostly I think I loved the idea of love. It is exhilarating, having someone think that you are the most special person on earth. I don't really remember when he stopped being my beau or why, but I never had another really serious beau. Life was becoming too serious for that. But I remember that red-headed boy. He always had a red handkerchief in his back pocket and he would mop his forehead with it after we danced a fast dance. I always thought he looked all red then, his face and hair and that handkerchief.

What I felt for Éomer ran much deeper than the way I felt for that red-headed boy. I still had the same exhilaration, the speedy pulse and the blushes, but under all of that was something more serious than puppy love. I found that I wanted to do good things for him, just to see him smile. Sometimes I would allow myself to daydream of what it would be like to marry him and remain with him forever. I fit into his life already. I looked like his people and I was used to hard work. I see now that I was defending a position I knew I would lose. But I'm jumping ahead of the story now.

I remember the first time he kissed me. We were out riding together, and stopped for a drink at a little stream. We started teasing and he playfully bent down to lap up the water like a dog. I couldn't resist giving him the tiniest little kick that sent him tumbling into the stream. He played angry and growled as he chased me around to throw me into the stream. When he caught me I saw something changed in his eyes. The laughter faded and we looked at each other silently. Then slowly, slowly he lowered his lips to mine. I trembled with joy. It was wonderful. I put my arms around him and he held me closely. It was a very serious kiss. I had never been kissed that way before. When we broke apart I was embarrassed and started blushing, but he had a satisfied smile on his face. My grandmother would say that he looked like the cat that got into the cream. Our relationship continued to develop this way until I had another dream.


	23. Warning

In my other dreams I was disconnected from the events that I saw, watching. This dream began differently. It began with me awakening on a cot in our small family room. I was covered in blankets and a huge fire was roaring on the hearth, yet I couldn't get warm. I shook with cold until my teeth chattered, and then someone came to stand beside me. I wasn't able to see who the person was because my eyes were blurry, but I could tell it was a man. He bent over me and placed his hand on my forehead. His fingers were like ice and I moaned a little because the sensation sent another chill racing down my spine. If only I could get warm!

"She's still burning up," a voice droned above my head. It was so deep and slow that it almost hurt my ears to hear. It was nonsense, of course, I was freezing, not burning. "We can't get the fever down."

Another voice came from somewhere behind the man. It was high and fast. "They shouldn't have been near the men who were ill if they'd never had it themselves."

The slow voice answered, "They felt it was their duty. After all you did for the father…"

The fast voice broke in, "Shh! I still haven't told them."

"Told them what?" asked the painfully slow voice, but it faded as it spoke, and the reply from the fast voice was too soft to understand. I lay there silently, the chills had begun to make my head ache, and the light from the fire hurt my eyes.

"Mother?" came a rasping voice to my left.

To my surprise I answered, "I'm here," but it wasn't as if I had decided to say that. I felt more like a visitor in someone else's body. It hurt to talk, though, my throat was swollen and burning.

"I think – I'm dying," murmured the voice. A wave of mixed pain and sorrow flowed over me like black night, and the next thing I knew I was standing again in my own body on the hill behind my home, looking at three tombstones. As I reached down to brush away the dirt and read the names I awoke.

This time I did not try to brush off what I had dreamed. I knew that they were a message, a warning. My family was in grave danger and all I could think about was how to get back and help them.


	24. Ending

And now I near the end of my story. It seems to me that there was more I planned to say, but my old age is catching up with me, and the threads of my story have slipped away. There was more time spent in Ithilien and Gondor, during which time Éomer and I fell deeply, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love. Still, I knew that I must return to my own country, no matter what ties held me to his. So it was that I mounted my horse and rode back to Spruce Havens, and arrived one blustery cold night and spent the next year explaining to all and sundry where I had been.

The dreams that I had dreamed were based in reality. A battle had been fought on our very farm, and our house had been used as a hospital. Unfortunately, my mother and sister contracted a fever while tending the wounded and died soon after. My father and brothers were killed in battle, and since there was no one to claim the farm, myself being assumed dead, a kind soldier by the name of Tompkins, who had lost a leg in the battle, brought his widowed mother to live with him at Spruce Havens. When I made my surprise return in the night, Mr. Tompkins kindly offered to turn the farm back over to me, but I was in no condition to run a farm. So he made me a different offer, and offer of marriage.

I do not regret anything about my life. Ephraim was a wonderful husband to me for 50 years. Even if he was not my first love, I grew to love him just as much. Now I know that my story seems amazing and far-fetched. Some people have theorized that I merely dreamed it all in the height of a fever, but how then do they explain that I was missing, a fact acknowledged by all our neighbors? I know that this whole journal may seem like the ramblings of a demented old woman, and that is why, as I write, I have decided not to share this with my children and grandchildren after all. Instead, I believe that I will hide it, and let my story remain my secret. I loved Ephraim, but now, as the shadows creep over the house, I look out my window over a field, and I seem to see a bright golden head, proudly lifted, and a straight and lean body poised over the back of a well-bred horse. Here in the twilight of my life, it is Éomer, the love of my youth who comes to take me home.

_And so ends the diary. I do not know, but I can't help but hope that Helen died happily in her room, dreaming of her first love._


End file.
